


Let Me Help

by synstruck



Series: this is our aftermath [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synstruck/pseuds/synstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know he wakes at night sometimes.<br/>You're concerned.<br/>You want to help.<br/>But he doesn't let you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Help

You know he wakes at night sometimes.

He always looks haunted the next day, the ever-present dark circles under his eyes even darker the mornings after you hear him toss restlessly and wake with a cry. He’s never cold towards you, at least he never means to be by his own standards, but on the days after he wakes at night you think he avoids you, and you feel he certainly refuses to catch your eye.

You’ve never expressly been told, but you figured that he probably dreamt of the mission were the Survey Corps lost their Commander and many of their high-ranking officers. It doesn’t take a genius to know that losing your closest friends all at once, so soon after losing your squad would take a toll on your mental health.

You are concerned though.

It’s been five years since then, and he still wakes at night, still comes to the mess hall with haunted eyes the next morning. Still can’t hold your gaze.

You want to help.

He said that he felt tired, staring listlessly out the window of his office as you stood by his desk with a bundle of paperwork under one arm, your brow furrowed with confusion and worry.

He never elaborated on or clarified what he meant by that, but you suspect it wasn’t a mere off-hand comment about how he was feeling that day.

It’s been five years, and you’re aware they’ve been hard on him.

But he won’t let you help.

He deflects any question about his well-being, answers them facetiously, snaps at you if he thinks you’re poking too hard.

When he gets too terse you laugh to break the tension, tell him that he just looked particularly constipated today is all, don’t get so shitty and go take a dump or something. He snorts in disbelief at your crappy attempt at toilet humour and you wilt considerably at the disapproving curl of his upper lip. You think that didn’t work as well as you’d hope it would.

He still wakes at night.

When you’d been promoted to Squad Leader three years back, you’d managed to organize things with your colleagues so you’d gotten the room next to his quarters, swapping your living space a little further down the hall with Jean, who was originally supposed to occupy the residence you now live in. You’re not quite sure precisely why you did this, but it didn’t really bother you that you don’t know why you wanted to swap rooms. You stopped wondering about it.

Barely two months after you’d settled into your new accommodations, you’d been sitting at the desk in your room late one night, reading over a few reports from an expedition just past when you hear a sharp gasp from the room behind you, the sound muffled heavily by the wall dividing your quarters. You’d frozen momentarily in surprise before relaxing as you realised Levi had probably just woken from a nightmare or something.

You were not expecting the quiet sob that you barely heard filter through the wall. You sat, conflicted, wanting to go to check on Levi and knowing that he’d want his privacy.

The next day, you shifted your furniture around.

You’d been in Levi’s quarters before, and with a rough recollection of his room you shift your bed up against the wall that your desk used to be set in front of, knowing that Levi’s bed was pushed against the opposite side of the wall.

You were just worried, you told yourself as you finish rearranging your room that evening.

You were just worried, you told yourself as you lay awake that night, tense as you listen for restlessness next door, eyes fixed on the ceiling before you finally fall asleep in the early hours of the morning after not hearing anything out of the ordinary all night.

You were just worried, you told yourself as you keep a closer eye on the Corporal over the next week, noting his disappearance the morning after and the more-tired-than usual look he carried when you managed to catch a glimpse of him.

You spent three years quietly watching and listening and doing nothing, because he wouldn’t let you in, wouldn’t accept any help. It didn’t affect his work, but you feel that he’s more distant nowadays than he used to be.

You still hear him wake with a cry every now and then.

You lie in bed, wondering whether to check up on him. Sometimes you come close to it, standing at your door with the hand on the knob while you puzzle over whether it is a good idea or not.

One night, he gasps violently as he wakes, and the sound rouses you from your sleep, and you blink into the darkness just as a choked sob filters through the wall behind your bed. You sit up in your bed, like you always do when you awaken to his troubled sleep, and wonder if you should finally check on him.

The crack of wood makes you jump.

You’re on your feet and stumbling to your door before you realise you’d even gotten up.

You pause in front of his quarters, hand hovering over the door-handle as you’re hit with a sudden wave of indecision as you wonder if this is a good idea.

The bitten-off sob makes your mind up for you, and you twist the knob.


End file.
